Froth


Eschewing this emotion is like ironing the oceans
ripples, with the intentions of creating still water.

The current is as powerful as the scintillating aura
enclosing the sun.

As the white horse plants its hoofs,
I position my foundation to run.

Something keen clutched my talus and I stumbled
as the bronco crushed my bones and organs,
dematerializing my skin.

I punched the airs physiognomy with my broken tusk
between the gash on my palm.

Eschewing this emotion is like popping the infinite
bubbles in the oceans froth.

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